One More Taste (One and Only Texas #2)(64)

“Eat,” she said, lifting a half sandwich to her lips.

He hadn’t known he was hungry until he looked at the sandwiches. Bright red jelly with chunks of strawberry oozed from the triangles and pooled on the plate. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a peanut butter sandwich, especially one with the crusts cut off. What he was sure of was that he’d never seen a better-looking meal, or enjoyed one with better company.

The peanut butter was thick and salty on his tongue, the jelly tartly sweet. He washed down his first bite with a long drink of the milk. It was bracingly cold and as dense as cream. His last memory of drinking whole milk was from his grandparents’ ranch, his mother’s people, when he’d been thirteen. What a summer that had been.

“I ran away from home when I was sixteen and never looked back,” she said, as casually as she might have commented on the brand of peanut butter she’d used.

Knox couldn’t think of anything to do but nod as he processed her words. She’d been a teen runaway. Sixteen. So young. An onslaught of questions raced through his mind. Why had she needed to run? Abuse at home? Is that how she knew what her friend was going through or was there more to Emily’s story? Did her nightmare end when she ran away or was that the beginning of a new nightmare?

“You never returned home?” he asked.

“No. I’ve been on my own since then.”

“And you grew up in Houston. You’re not that far from home. Weren’t you worried your parents would find you?”

She finished her bite of sandwich and washed it down with milk before answering. “I lied about Houston. Rule number one about assuming a new identity is learning how to lie.”

Every detail she revealed only created more questions in his mind. Sixteen, alone. How did she not end up dead or on drugs or mixed up with the wrong crowd? “How did you survive? How did you start there and become an executive chef at a world-class resort by the age of thirty? It doesn’t add up.”

“At first, wherever I could find work or bunk down. Eventually, I bought an old car off my friend’s older brother. I worked my ass off, juggling every odd job I could find. I lived in that car for three years while I worked and got my GED. Sometime during those years, I got it in my head to be a chef because food … it’s life and comfort and makes people feel good. And I was always so hungry. When I went to the culinary academy, it was on a scholarship for teen runaways, but I still couldn’t afford a place to stay most months. That car was my lifeline, my best friend, until I graduated from the culinary academy and Ty Briscoe took a chance on me.”

No wonder, was all Knox could think. No wonder Emily was so loyal to the Briscoes. No wonder she hadn’t sought out mentorships with renowned chefs or traveled to a culinary mecca like New York City to seek her fortune. Whatever abuse had happened in her household growing up, it’d been bad enough that she’d opted to live on the streets and assume a new identity at an age when most kids spent their time worrying about crushes and loitering at malls, spending their parents’ money. No wonder she’d structured her whole life around keeping her true identity a secret and not drawing too much attention to herself.

Her attention drifted to the small window over the sink, as though she was deliberating what more to tell him, if anything. He held his breath, waiting.

After clearing her throat, she met his gaze again. Her eyes were sharp with challenge. “I changed my last name to Ford, after that car. Emily was the name of my imaginary friend when I was little. I spent all the money I’d brought with me when I left home on that car and on buying the highest quality forged identity available. I had to, to survive and to stay hidden.” Her jaw tightened, pulling her tight lips into a frown. He doubted she was aware that she was gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles had gone white. “And now you have the power to ruin me. No one’s had that power in a long, long time.”

Ruining other’s lives was not a part of who he was. Except Ty Briscoe, except …

He extinguished the errant thoughts immediately. His goal at Briscoe Ranch to seek justice for his father was a different situation entirely. That was business. That was justified retribution. That was not anything remotely like holding the fate of an abuse survivor in his hands.

“Then I’m giving that power back to you. I don’t want it.” He dragged his chair toward her, then covered her hand with his. “Your secret will die with me, Emily. On my life, I will never do anything to put you in danger. I promise you that.”

She peeled her fingers away from the edge of the table and threaded them with Knox’s. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“But do you believe me?”

She stared into his eyes, beyond his eyes, searching for something. He held still, his hands still entwined with hers, and let her look. Finally, she nodded. “I do.”

He could think of no other action than to fold over their joined hands and kiss her knuckles. He lingered there with his lips on her soft skin, even when he felt her kiss his hair and nuzzle her face against it.

They may have remained locked like that for eternity had her cell phone not rung. But ring, it did.

To his disappointment, she raised her head and pulled away from him. “I have to get that,” she said, her voice cracking once. “It’s the ringtone for the catering kitchen, and there’s a big wedding tonight.”